Skin Deep
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: When confronted with incontrovertible proof that Luke Skywalker is his son, Vader is left reeling. His allegiance to the Emperor shatters as the ash and embers in his heart begin to glow and Anakin Skywalker slowly reawakens, along with his memories of Padme. Set in conjunction with OT.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: PLEASE READ! Okay, so, I did a thing. I realized that this story needed some kind of preamble, so I replaced my original first chapter with this instead, which makes the original Chapter 1 into Chapter 2. I know, I know. Not nice. A true update is a-coming, though! Please don't hate me.

* * *

Skin Deep

 _Chapter 1_

"Stay in attack formation."

Vader and two of his best TIE pilots flew toward the maelstrom of blaster fire criss-crossing the surface of the Death Star. He didn't like what he was seeing. For the Alliance to launch an offensive attack on the monstrous battle station meant only one thing: they'd analyzed the stolen plans and found a weakness. He'd been afraid of this; he cursed that infernal Krennic. May he rot forever.

As he directed his TIE fighter ever closer to the Death Star's trenches, Vader ground his teeth in annoyance. Things were not going according to plan. Failing to recover the Death Star technical plans, losing a valuable Rebel prisoner, and dueling his old master were far, far removed from any semblance of the productivity he had expected when he first entered the fray of battle at Scarif those long hours ago.

Vader usually categorized his days under two main headings: Productive or Unproductive. He'd long given up trying to determine Good days and Bad days; when all of your limbs are mechanical and a machine breathes for you every day, all the time, year after year, can it really be said that you _ever_ have a _good_ day?

Today, though, today was in a class all its own. He could call today, unequivocally, a Bad Day. There was such a blinding disturbance in the Force that he found it difficult to concentrate on anything. He didn't even consider Kenobi's death to be any sort of triumph; he'd been dreaming of that moment for twenty years and when he had finally used his blade to strike the old man, he felt emptiness instead of vindication. And a little bit of rage, too; not only was Kenobi throwing out one-liners, but he actually had the audacity to look Vader in the eye, knowing he was about to die, and _smirk_. Vader had seen that look on Kenobi's face a hundred times before. It was the same sardonic smirk Kenobi the General used to throw when he _knew_ he was facing an enemy he was about to completely decimate.

 _You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine._

And then Kenobi's body had disappeared—! What in the hells of Corellia was going on?

The disturbance in the Force had not abated with Kenobi's death. It remained strong, and Vader's unease grew even as he saw X-Wing after X-Wing disappear into fiery oblivion along the Death Star's surface. There were only a handful left now, three of them in the trenches. One was trailing smoke and pulled away from the station. Two remaining.

"Let him go," Vader instructed his pilots. "Stay on the leader."

He'd been watching that lead X-Wing for some minutes now. The pilot exhibited unusual skill and maneuvering, seeming to anticipate every obstacle in his way. The small fighter hurtled at terminal velocity toward a point that Vader couldn't determine. But he didn't need to find out where the X-Wing was headed. He only needed to prevent it from getting there.

"I'm on the leader." He leaned on the throttle of his TIE and it surged forward, inching ever closer to the X-Wing. Vader adjusted his controls and checked his targeting systems.

And then all of a sudden, his hands fell very still.

He sensed a presence, a ripple in the Force, a mind reaching out. For a split-second, he wondered if Ahsoka Tano…but no. This was a presence he had never felt before; yet the incandescent light it carried was strangely familiar.

Fear and dread, his oldest friends, gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

"The Force is strong with this one," he muttered to himself. He drew closer to the bobbing X-Wing and squeezed his blaster triggers. A blaster bolt struck the X-Wing's astromech. Disabling the droid would all but disable the pilot. The droid was hardly more than a scorched dome now. Vader allowed himself a small smile; the hit slowed the X-Wing minutely, just enough for Vader to close the gap between them.

"I have you now."

He wrapped his hands around the trigger, reveling in the knowledge that the light in the Force would soon be extinguished—

Something exploded near him, and it wasn't an X-Wing.

"What!" He yelped his astonishment. Almost frantically, he looked through his domed cockpit to try and see the ship which had shot his pilot.

He couldn't see anything.

"Look out!" His other pilot screamed over the comm. Then he was gone, vaporized against the Death Star's surface. The shockwave sent Vader's ship hurtling into space, spinning completely out of control.

He didn't see the Death Star Explode, but he felt it in the Force, and he felt the light grow _stronger._

By the time he regained control of his craft, all he could see was chunks of debris floating and four Alliance ships disappearing in the general direction of Yavin IV. One of those ships carried a pilot who had an undeniable connection to the Force. All of this just hours after his final duel with Kenobi! That damn old man had known all along.

Alone now in the vacuum of space, Vader screamed his fury.

* * *

Hours later, Vader was on board his Super Star Destroyer and in as foul a mood as anyone had ever witnessed. He wanted to know everything about the Rebel strike on the Death Star and he wanted to know _now_.

He didn't want junior lieutenants tripping over themselves trying to explain that anyone who knew anything about the strike had been aboard the Death Star and was dead. He wanted _results_.

Rolling his eyes so far back he could almost see the base of his skull, Vader ground out, "Sift through any and all reports filed on the Death Star in the last twelve hours before its destruction."

The data officers nearby blanched; that would be _hundreds_ of reports.

Vader half-turned on his heel but froze when he remembered something so obviously important: Princess Leia Organa had been rescued from the Death Star by an Alliance ship. "A YT-model freighter was pulled in by tractor beam after it attempted to enter the Alderaan system. _Find it._ "

"S-s-sir!" A data officer called tremulously, half lifting himself from his seat to look at the dark lord.

"What?" Vader made no move toward the man's terminal. He crossed his arms over his chest in a show of impatience.

The officer scrambled toward Vader. "I was just l-looking at a report about that very same ship. Well—it was a BOLO from earlier today and—"

"Time _is_ of the essence," Vader hinted darkly.

"Yes sir," the officer stammered breathlessly, "The ship is a Corellian YT-1300 model registered to a Han Solo, known smuggler. First mate is a Wookiee named Chewbacca. The ship was carrying four passengers—two humans and two droids—when it…sir?"

The man stopped abruptly, but Vader didn't pay any attention to him. He was already walking away. He could finish the lieutenant's sentence for him. He already knew. The freighter had blasted its way out of Mos Eisley spaceport, fleeing from Imperial forces looking for the two droids. The two droids which had the Death Star plans. The two droids which had jettisoned themselves in an escape pod and landed on Tatooine after Vader himself boarded the _Tantive IV_.

And the two human passengers aboard the freighter? Vader didn't need to be told that one of them was an elderly man in a long robe. He didn't need to be told that the other was a fresh-faced youth.

 _He already knew._

He cursed them, and he cursed himself for having been so wrapped up in Obi-Wan Kenobi's presence on the Death Star that he hadn't bothered to ask himself, _Why?_

He stalked blindly down the _Executor's_ passageways. Something was nagging at him, irritating him like sand against skin.

Sand.

Tatooine.

Obi-Wan had been Tatooine. Vader clenched a fist and a nearby mouse droid imploded.

Obi-Wan had been hiding on Tatooine this whole time, two decades, because he knew it was the one place in the galaxy where Vader would not—could not—step foot.

 _Of course._

And what of the young boy with him? Vader had no doubt he was more than a casual acquaintance of Kenobi's. And he had no doubt that the boy was the Rebel pilot who'd fired the fatal shot to the Death Star.

His instincts were screaming.

He reached out to the Force to try and calm the turmoil in his mind, to try and use his anger and frustration and turn them into clarity.

Going to Tatooine himself was completely out of the question. Vader had destroyed his former self, but he was not impervious to memories. And there were too many memories on Tatooine.

Yet the matter of the boy still remained. An investigation needed to be opened. Vader wanted answers, and so would the Emperor.

He needed someone who would investigate quickly, thoroughly, and discreetly. He needed someone smart, someone high-ranking, and he needed someone who knew how to deal with people.

A name came to mind. An unlikely person, one Vader didn't even like, but who fit the bill perfectly.

Thrawn.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: PLEASE READ: this is not a true update. I went back and added another chapter to precede this one because I thought something was missing from the story. Sorry! But feel free to go back and read the real first chapter! I promise, a real update is in the editing stage and on its way.

* * *

Skin Deep

 _Chapter 2_

Grand Admiral Thrawn held the datapad in his thin fingers, lightly tapping the sides in a fashion which could almost be called absent-minded.

Almost.

Any being who had ever mistaken Thrawn's reticence for thoughtlessness was a simpleton and most likely dead. No, Thrawn was never thoughtless. At the moment, he was calculating how to use newly collected information to his advantage.

Two weeks ago, Vader had asked Thrawn to investigate the Rebel pilot responsible for destroying the Death Star. Thrawn agreed immediately and without question. Not that Thrawn cared anything much about the Death Star or the Rebel victory at Yavin; he considered the Death Star to be an artless employ of military power and the rebellion nothing more than a pestilence to be exterminated in due course.

No, Thrawn wasn't interested in any of that. He was, however, very interested in knowing and understanding his adversaries. Vader was indeed an adversary. The two men shared a very cool acquaintance, having first met at the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. Neither approved of the other. Thrawn thought Vader to be nothing more than the Emperor's tactless and impulsive guard dog. Vader believed Thrawn had _too_ much tact; he suspected the man of quietly aspiring to overthrow the Emperor. Neither of them was wrong about the other. There was likely no scenario under which the two men would have worked together well.

That made it all the more surprising when Vader had personally contacted Thrawn to ask this favor. Of course Thrawn had accepted immediately. Here was a chance to see where Vader's interests lay! Gaining the upper hand against the Rebellion was only a secondary motive.

Vader gave no reason as to why he was handing off the investigation, and offered no real leads. He hinted at strong repercussions for any indiscretion on Thrawn's part. He only said he suspected the Rebel pilot had an affiliation with an Obi-Wan Kenobi and an incident at Mos Eisley spaceport on Tatooine.

Ah, Tatooine.

Thrawn turned to regard the planet's expanse as it shrank from view. Even at this distance, a monstrous sandstorm was visible in the planet's southern hemisphere. To say that the planet's climate was unforgiving would be generous. Thrawn hadn't cared much for it.

"Prepare to jump to hyperspace," he instructed the deck officer as he turned on one heel. He squinted ever so slightly against the glare of Tatooine's twin suns. The deck officer scrambled to obey the command after a moment of pause; he was still learning not to be wholly unnerved by Thrawn's glowing, red eyes.

"Destination, sir?" The young man heard the inane question fall out of his mouth and kicked himself mentally. Of _course_ he knew where they were going. Thrawn didn't flinch.

"Mustafar. Bast Castle. Inform the ground crew there to expect only myself. I'll pilot a landing craft down."

If the deck officer thought these instructions unusual, he had the wherewithal not to show it. "Very good, sir."

Thrawn left the bridge and walked the corridors of the cruiser. He was usually in command of a Star Destroyer, but the excursion had only required a light cruiser. The corners of Thrawn's mouth lifted. He despised Tatooine—by and large, it was an artless place—but his time there had been fruitful. Not only had he learned the Rebel pilot's name, but his lineage as well. The boy was the son of Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight. There was little doubt.

Thrawn was old enough to remember the Clone Wars and the role of the Jedi during the conflict. They had been pivotal to many of the Republic's successes, and many failures as well. By the war's end, two Jedi, Skywalker and Kenobi, were fabled above the rest. The duo seemed unstoppable, infallible. Every young boy in the galaxy had idolized them, and the Chiss boys on Csilla were no exception. How often had Thrawn and his friends scoured the HoloNews for any mention of Skywalker and Kenobi's conquests? Even after the Purge, Thrawn had studied and admired Kenobi; the man was a brilliant tactician. Skywalker was a great warrior, but lacked the polish of his former master. His tactics were loud, brash. Skywalker had always been the unknown quantity in any equation. It little surprised Thrawn that Skywalker's ultimate fate had been ambiguous. In the classified record of Jedi killed in the Purge, his name had been conspicuously absent. Thrawn strongly suspected the reason why.

Tales had circulated, years ago, of Skywalker's Tatooine origins, how he had won the dangerous Boonta Eve Classic podrace before being whisked away to train as a Jedi. Thrawn was able to confirm that much in Mos Espa. He'd also found that Skywalker had a step-brother, Owen Lars. Lars was an unremarkable man, except that he and his wife had raised one child, a child not their own. School records showed this boy's name to be Luke Skywalker.

Anakin Skywalker's stepbrother raising a child of the same surname? Thrawn didn't believe in coincidences.

He walked into his stateroom and sat at his desk. He powered on the computer terminal and entered his personal access code. His high-level clearance would give him access to the Empire's most classified records. The search bar appeared and he tapped his blue-skinned fingers on the keyboard, thinking. He'd learned all he could about the young Skywalker's origins. Some of the elderly locals on Tatooine had been very helpful: the child was no blood-kin to the Lars, but Owen and Beru raised him, and that was that. One old woman thought that maybe the boy belonged to "Shmi's son," but she wasn't sure; no one had seen little Annie in decades. And what had become of him in the fall of the Republic? The woman clucked her tongue. For her own safety, Thrawn thanked her for her help and said no more.

What had become of Anakin Skywalker indeed?

It would be most difficult to uncover details of Anakin Skywalker's life post-Jedi, Thrawn thought wryly, considering that he was alive and well and calling himself Darth Vader. He needed another avenue if he was going to confirm what he'd found. Hadn't there been a woman often associated with Skywalker and Kenobi's exploits? He might have better luck learning about _her_. Thrawn's eyes narrowed as he followed the mental threads to one name. He typed it in.

 _Amidala._

Her image appeared, along with a detailed dossier, but Thrawn was more interested in the woman's face. A myriad of images swam before him, and every single one of them showed a woman aged twenty-seven or eight at most. _She died young, then_ , Thrawn mused. He knew that was no insignificant detail. He tapped on a holo, and it expanded, projecting on the empty wall opposite his desk. He walked over to it, standing in front of it with hands folded behind his back almost in a state of reverence.

The picture had been taken on the day Amidala last appeared in public, the same day Palpatine convened the Senate to proclaim the rise of the Empire. Amidala was elegantly dressed, draped in dark, rich fabrics and the medallion in her hair resembled the Rebel Alliance's insignia. Thrawn sniffed at this, but ignored it to study Amidala herself. She was an exquisite beauty. Her dark eyes held both burning intelligence and immense sadness. Thrawn was a master at reading faces and found that hers had a lot to say. What, he wondered, happened to this woman in the chaos of her final days? He touched the holo, swiping it away, and a different one took its place.

Thrawn's eyebrows rose when the new image coalesced in front of him. He stepped back to regard it, leaning against his desk, as though he were in a museum admiring the work of a master. Amidala was indeed a masterpiece, beautiful to the last. Swathed in muted blues, abundant curls arranged artfully with delicate white flowers, she seemed to be drowning in the darkness around her.

Thrawn guessed she probably had. His eyes lingered on her abdomen. She had died pregnant and young and years before her time. What a tragedy, and a waste.

With one touch, Thrawn opened Amidala's dossier and inspected her death certificate. Her remains were interred on Naboo, but the death certificate had been authenticated on Polis Massa, a no-account planet on the edge of the Outer Rim. Her medical records indicated she had never given birth. The pictures of her funeral corroborated this. But Thrawn intuitively knew that she was the mother of Luke Skywalker.

He flipped through image after image of Amidala and counted over one hundred in which she and Skywalker were in the same location, if not in close proximity to one another. He read her file and was not surprised to find that their acquaintance pre-dated the Clone Wars. They crossed paths several times during the war itself, both personally and professionally. Of _course_ Skywalker and Amidala had been involved. They had been two of the galaxy's brightest stars, no doubt fatally attracted to one another.

He gave a heavy sigh, closing the record and opening the holo-image of her funeral once more. A day ago, finding out about Anakin Skywalker's son had seemed like such a glorious thing to lord over Vader's head. He had never considered he'd find a dead lover into the bargain.

He tapped the com-unit on his desk.

"Yes, sir?" The deck officer immediately answered.

"Change course for Polis Massa," Thrawn said, offering no explanation.

"Sir," the deck officer hesitated, "that's located in the middle of an asteroid belt. We won't be able to—"

"Get as close to the asteroid belt as you can," Thrawn interrupted. "I'll take a shuttle to the planet's surface."

"Yes, sir."

Thrawn felt the ship heave and groan as it fell back to a sub-light speed. As they hadn't traveled far from the Outer Rim, it wouldn't take long to re-calculate a course and reach Polis Massa. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd find, but he knew there was every chance that Amidala had given birth to Luke Skywalker there. He made a mental checklist of things he wanted to find out: had she been alone? What was the cause of death? Had the Emperor known about any of it?

He frowned. Of course the Emperor knew _something_. In fact, Thrawn wouldn't be surprised if the Emperor had used Padmé Amidala to ensnare Skywalker somehow. It was just the sort of vile, unprincipled thing that made Palpatine despicable even to shrewd, ambitious men like Thrawn.

Thrawn himself had loved a woman long ago, and he felt a sudden, very rare surge of empathy. Knowing he'd uncovered something unspeakably intimate, he felt uneasy about confronting Vader. Unable to look away from Amidala's tragic, beautiful face, Thrawn stood transfixed by the image until long after the ship reached Polis Massa.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: First of all, many thanks to all of you who've followed/favorited/reviewed this story! I'm delighted that you like it! I hope this chapter won't disappoint! Some of you may have noticed that I went back and put in a new first chapter; sorry if that was confusing. After I posted this last week, I e-mailed my wonderful beta-reader and I was like, "Hey, by the way, I wrote a thing that I need help with." (because I'm impulsive and I jumped into writing this fic without thinking it through entirely-oops.) So while she and I are in the process of editing and revising, I may make some retro-active changes. I'll let you know. Also, some of this may not exactly fit with canon/legends, but, you know...fiction. Happy reading!

* * *

Skin Deep

 _Chapter 3_

Anakin Skywalker had never been one disposed to indulge in creature comforts; Darth Vader even less so. Growing up on a harsh desert world, fighting a war, and enduring a baptism by fire had seen to that.

Losing his wife had seen to that.

Still, there were a very few things Vader enjoyed, and spending time in his meditation chamber was one of them. It was a stark, white space, sterile in every sense of the word. It had been specially equipped and sterilized so that he could spend time outside of his suit, breathe on his own, eat, feel fresh air. Even after two decades and countless bacta treatments, his skin—what was left of it—was still highly susceptible to infection, sometimes cracking and bleeding if he went too long between treatments. Sitting in his hyperbaric chamber helped promote healing. The process was painful every single time even when, like today, he only had his helmet and mask off. The physical pain was something he'd learned to live with; the emotional scars were still the most raw. He'd lost so much in the fire of his own anger.

It had been primarily the Emperor's idea for him to live on Mustafar. _The place of your greatest trial and rebirth,_ the withered Sith said. _It was here that Skywalker died, and it is here you should live, Lord Vader, to remember his weakness, so that you should never be tempted by him again._

He agreed, but not because he felt any connection to the ashen banks where he had burned and screamed in torment.

Yes, Anakin Skywalker died here, but he had _lived_ here, too.

 _Here_ was the last place he had seen _her_ alive, had felt her soft hands on his unmarred face, held her close, sensed the small, burgeoning presence of their child. Here was the last place they had all been together. Here was where they had all died.

Here was where he killed them; himself, Padmé, their child. Try as he might, he couldn't forget that. He couldn't forget-

 _Anakin, all I want is your love._

Vader clenched his teeth. He _had_ been doing well with not thinking about her, not dwelling on the pain of living without her, ignoring the fact that he had killed her. The nightmares and visions had all but stopped. But her voice stole into his thoughts so often now.

Especially now.

Their last argument ran on a near-continuous loop in his mind.

 _I don't believe what I'm hearing. Obi-Wan was right; you've changed._

Obi-Wan.

 _I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan._

An ironic thing for him to have said, considering that he was about to spend the next two decades hunting Obi-Wan, hating him, wanting him dead. More ironic still was the fact that it his confrontation with Obi-Wan which had placed Vader in his current situation: waiting impatiently for confirmation of something he already knew.

Thrawn was on his way here, now, with a report containing the identity of the Rebel pilot. A sick dread settled in the depths of Vader's soul when the Chiss admiral had contacted him to say he'd been successful and was coming to report. The man was business-like, professional to the utmost, but Vader sensed hesitancy. Many men—most men—were hesitant to approach the Lord of the Sith, but never Thrawn. No, if anything, Thrawn only barely afforded Vader the respect his position deserved. What had the man feeling so uneasy?

An insistent beeping sound broke Vader's train of thought. He activated his comm. When he spoke, it was with a voice he was not used to hearing, a voice unpolluted by the device in his mask. "Yes?"

"Shuttle approaching, my lord."

"Inform Grand Admiral Thrawn that I will meet him personally."

"Very good, sir."

He curled his hands into fists and breathed as deeply as he could on his own before activating a set of controls. Something above him whirred to life and his oxygen regulator began its work as his helmet lowered onto his head. He glanced up at it, taking advantage of the few seconds of unaided eyesight he had left. The mask and helmet then lowered onto his head, heavily tinted lenses covering his eyes and correcting the vision which had not only been damaged by the fire that had eaten his flesh, but had begun to deteriorate in the normal process of aging as well. Yes, he could see much better with his helmet on, but it also darkened everything around him. There was no brilliance. Everything and everyone looked the same. He relied on the Force for clarity and detail.

He felt the helmet seal, pressurize, and then he was in his personal prison once more. He stood and tapped another control and the chamber began to de-pressurize and open. As soon as the gap was wide enough, he ducked out. He strode from the room with purpose, taking the shortest route to the landing dock. As he stepped outside, Mustafar's oppressive heat caused his suit's cooling regulator to kick into overdrive. The cold was painful on his face, which was already raw from its exposure in the chamber.

Numbly, Vader thought, _It never stops._

He stood now on a landing platform waiting for the arrival of Thrawn's shuttle. This particular platform was the only part of the former Separatist facility which hadn't been completely razed and rebuilt years ago; he hadn't allowed it. This platform was the last place he had ever seen _her_ alive. He stood where she had fallen, as he always did when he was coming or going from the platform. He could feel faint echoes of her presence, even after all this time.

Thrawn's shuttle drew closer, starting as a speck in the sky and growing until it touched down on the platform. Its grey plating contrasting starkly with the violent lava churning in the molten river below. When Thrawn came down the landing ramp, his blue skin contrasted even more starkly still. The reds and oranges of the lava gave Thrawn's skin an eerie glow, but Vader was undisturbed.

"Grand Admiral," he greeted coolly.

"Lord Vader."

They started inside. Thrawn held a holocube and a datapad in his hand. "Is there a secure room we can use?" He asked. "I've uncovered some sensitive information."

Vader inclined his head. "Of course. Are you in need of refreshment?"

Thrawn's mouth was tight. "I think not, thank you. Let's get right to it."

The uneasiness in the pit of Vader's stomach grew when they reached the room that functioned as his office. He entered a code on the door's keypad, and the room sealed, lights dimming. Anything said or any data shared while the security mode was active would not be heard or transmitted by anything or anyone attempting to spy. Perhaps it was an unnecessary precaution, but Vader and Thrawn knew better than anyone that in Palpatine's Empire, there was always someone listening.

Vader and Thrawn stood across from each other, both of them stiff. The rhythmic sound of Vader's regulated breathing echoed in the small space.

After several moments of silence, Thrawn turned on the datapad and glanced down at it, reciting mechanically. "This datapad contains a report of all information pertinent to the Empire's interest: the pilot's name, age, affiliations, last known location, etcetera. The pilot's name is Luke Skywalker, twenty standard years old, affiliated with the Rebel Alliance, of course; responsible for the 'rescue' of Princess Leia Organa from the Death Star and the station's subsequent destruction. He first came to Imperial attention on his home planet, Tatooine, where he, a smuggler named Solo, and a Ben Kenobi were involved in an unauthorized ship departure incident in Mos Eisley. He was raised on a moisture farm outside of Anchorhead by his aunt and uncle, Owen and Beru Lars."

Beneath the mask, Vader's face was twisted in shock. As soon as he'd felt the boy's strength with the Force, he'd _known_. But having it confirmed was something he hadn't been prepared for. His mind was reeling and reaching, trying to grasp the full significance of what he'd just heard.

"Skywalker?" He repeated, inwardly satisfied that his voice gave away nothing more than an appropriate amount of surprise at hearing the name of a long-dead Jedi. An unknown fear was tightening its fist around his heart.

"You heard correctly." Thrawn's eyes narrowed, trying to gauge him. He held the datapad out to Vader.

Vader took the datapad, but did not look at it. He folded his arms across his chest. For once, he was grateful for his vocabulator and respirator; they kept him from sounding as breathless as he felt. "And the information _not_ pertinent to the Empire's interest?"

Thrawn nodded minutely; they understood each other. "I was very meticulous in my research, Lord Vader." He looked Vader in the eye. "I can assure you that all of the information I'm about to share is accurate beyond a shadow of a doubt."

A slight nod. "I expected no less. Proceed."

Crossing behind Vader's desk, Thrawn set the holocube in the appropriate terminal, and it activated, glowing. Luke Skywalker appeared before them. The image was life-sized.

"This is Skywalker, taken about two standard years ago."

Vader took half a step closer to the image. He _knew_ that face! He'd looked at a nearly-identical one in the mirror every day for twenty-three years.

Thrawn tapped the holocube and two different images appeared: the face of a child and the face of a battle-hardened man, a jagged scar running parallel to his eye. The face which, beneath Vader's mask, still bore that same scar.

"And this is his father, Anakin Skywalker," Thrawn continued, "the former Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Before his Jedi training, he was a Tatooine native. Something of a local marvel."

Vader didn't move. His heart slammed against his ribs when confronted with the images of his former self and his-his _son_. "Skywalker had a son," Vader repeated evenly. "Was he born on Tatooine?"

"No." Thrawn tapped the cube again. Another image appeared, a publicity photo from an old Republic HoloNews story. One of Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi standing shoulder to shoulder, at ease and smiling. It took everything in Vader to keep from recoiling.

"This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master. Skywalker was Kenobi's apprentice. Kenobi survived the Jedi Purge and hid on Tatooine, calling himself 'Ben.' I believe it was Kenobi who delivered Skywalker's son to the Lars immediately after his birth. You know, of course, that Kenobi died on the Death Star."

The echoes in Vader's mind spoke again:

 _Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me._

 _He cares about us._

 _Us?_

 _He knows...He wants to help you._

The datapad in his hand snapped cleanly in two and fell to the floor. Thrawn didn't flinch.

"And what of the boy's mother?" Vader spoke slowly, carefully. Thrawn's head dipped just a millimeter. He was slow to tap the holocube. When he did, a video started playing. "This was her. I went to great lengths to find out that she and Anakin Skywalker were secretly married at the start of the Clone Wars."

If not for the air being forcefully pumped in and out of his lungs, Vader would have stopped breathing. Padmé's image coalesced the center of the room. She looked so _young!_ Twenty-four at the most, but she carried herself with such authority and wisdom. She was in a dark dress, hair arranged as intricately as ever. With the image at that size, it was like she was standing in the room with them. Vader could see every detail: every seam, every twinge of her eyebrows, even the way her knuckles turned white with strain as she gripped the sides of her console. Now, just as then, he towered over her, but her gaze cut to his very core. She faced him, seemed to be speaking to _him_ , not to the Senate.

He was barely cognizant of Thrawn's presence in the room. "Is there audio?"

Thrawn said nothing, but tapped the holo-cube console. Padmé's fervent voice filled the room: loud, strong, and bell-clear.

" _Wake up, senators! You_ _ **must**_ _wake up! If you offer the Separatists violence, they can only show violence in return! Many will lose their lives; all will lose their freedom!"_

A pause as she searched the faces of those around her, an audience he couldn't see. All at once, her eyes met his.

" _I pray you do not let fear push you into disaster."_

Vader took a step back. "Enough."

"Padmé Amidala," Thrawn said as the holo-vid disappeared. "Senator and former queen of-"

"I know who she is," Vader snapped. He didn't want to hear Thrawn discuss her as if she had never been anything more than a hologram. She had been so vibrant; couldn't Thrawn _see_ that?

That question was answered when the Grand Admiral ventured carefully, "She was quite a remarkable figure despite her…" he searched for an appropriate phrase, "misguided political leanings."

Vader ignored him. "What did you discover about her?" He dared to hope: "Is she alive?"

He knew it was a stupid question; after all, he had seen images of her burial site in Theed. Still, if there was any chance her death had been faked…

"No." Thrawn said quickly. "I was curious about that myself. With Kenobi obviously alive for all those years and Anakin Skywalker's whereabouts unknown, I thought it was possible that Amidala's death had been a cover-up; between having a Jedi husband, a child to raise, and political views opposing Palpatine's, I imagine she would have wanted to disappear from public life." He paused meaningfully and tapped the holo-cube. "But then I saw this and I had little doubt."

She appeared before them again. Dead, this time. It was the image which had so affected Thrawn when he'd seen it, and now Vader more so. Slowly, he moved forward to peer into her holographic coffin as if it were really in the room. One gloved hand moved as if to stroke her cheek. Thrawn averted his gaze.

Vader's heart quivered. He had seen Padmé's image thousands of times; he had many holograms of her, used to look at them in his meditation chamber and grieve for her and the baby, rage against himself, or seek solace from her warm eyes. But he'd never seen _this_ -the river-blue dress, her hair, the flowers, the snippet of japor held carefully in her grasp, her prominent belly on display for all to see, the peaceful expression on her lifeless face. Peaceful, but deeply sad, he thought. He had been undergoing surgeries and treatments of every kind when her funeral took place, and he couldn't bring himself to see anything of it afterward, nor did he visit her grave on Naboo. He _knew_ he was the one who killed her; him and his fury and hatred and blindness. He didn't need to see her grave to confirm that...

His head snapped up suddenly and he sprang forward, away from the hologram.

He jerked his head back to look at Padmé.

He _had_ killed her, hadn't he?

 _Where is Padmé? Is she safe? Is she alright?_

 _It seems in your anger,_ _ **you**_ _killed her._

"What was her cause of death?" He demanded. "Asphyxiation?"

A look of total surprise passed briefly over Thrawn's face. "N-no," he said. "The report was inconclusive. They labeled her cause of death as 'stress cardiomyopathy,' but—"

"Were there any complications with the birth?"

 _You're going to die in childbirth...I won't let that happen, Padmé._

"No, none."

Vader was rendered speechless, but a voice, cold and awful, whispered to him:

 _Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?...Darth Plagueis was a dark lord of the Sith so powerful and so wise, he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life._

Vader clenched his fists tightly. Everything in the room began to tremble as he said to Thrawn, "Give me everything you've found."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm shamefully tardy with this. I have no excuse other than work is really sucking the life out of me. Can I get personal for a sec? Being a teacher (I'm a teacher, a responsible adult, believe it or not) in the month of April is like being in actual hell and there's no escape from the chaos which borders on anarchy. The children are done with their standardized testing and their eyes have glazed over and there's only one thing on everybody's mind: SUMMER. Except that school isn't out until almost June, even though there's nothing more to learn because the standardized tests are over. 'Murica's education system at its finest. Writing, my usual reprieve, has been the last thing on my mind. (I have, however, managed to finish both the _Clone Wars_ and _Rebels_ series and can I just say…tears. Everywhere. Expect fics to crop up right away.) Thank you for indulging my rant. I know many of you are students are adults experiencing the same thing: daily madness.

* * *

Skin Deep

 _Chapter 4_

As he walked with Thrawn to the landing dock, Vader kept his hands behind his back, clenched around several datachips.

"Your research was most enlightening," he said tightly. "I did not expect such…depth. I'm surprised you were able to uncover such detailed records of Skywalker's birth, considering how carefully they were hidden."

The two men stopped and Thrawn stepped in front of Vader, facing him. "I told you I would be thorough. Most beings I spoke to were very forthcoming, and it wasn't difficult to access servers to fill in the rest. Nothing really _can_ be erased, you know. The old holo-security footage from Polis Massa was a particularly compelling find." He waved a hand dismissively. His features were schooled in a mask of disinterest, but Vader knew better.

"It was a tragic little story, Amidala and Skywalker," Thrawn said passively. "Given the timing of Order 66, it seems likely that Amidala never knew what became of him."

"Is there a question in that, Grand Admiral?" Vader's voice held an unmistakable edge, even through the mask.

Thrawn shrugged. "Speculation."

"No need." He paused. "I killed Skywalker myself at the beginning of the Purge."

Thrawn's eyebrows rose a fraction of a centimeter. "Of course. Well," he turned and took a step forward, watching Vader from the corner of his eye. "I'm sure you have many things to attend to. And I assume that you'll be the one to inform the Emperor you've uncovered the pilot's name?"

Vader nodded once. "The Emperor will be appropriately briefed."

Thrawn didn't miss the subtle emphasis on _appropriately_.

Vader stood back, in his customary place on the landing dock, as Thrawn walked up the landing ramp of his shuttle. He turned.

"You could have used other, _non_ -Imperial avenues for this investigation, Lord Vader, with less risk of discovery. Why give the task to me?" He asked plaintively. He was trying, one last time, to read the man behind the mask.

Vader shifted to fold his arms across his chest. "No one else has your skill-set and… _reputation_ , Admiral. I knew you wouldn't speak to the Emperor out of turn. And," he added wryly, "now I owe you a favor."

Thrawn gave a tight-lipped smile. "Indeed."

* * *

Seeing her face was one thing; in moments of weakness over the years, he had gazed at her holo-image, had allowed memories to surface in his mind.

But hearing her voice— _her_ voice, not the faded echo in his mind—nearly ruined him.

Unregulated now by the devices in his suit, his heart slammed and stuttered against his ribs. His breaths came hard, shallow, and painful. Thrawn left him hours and hours' worth of recordings, files, and images to sift through. Only about half of them pertained to the rebel Luke Skywalker. The other half pertained to Skywalker's parents.

 _Parents._

Himself and Padmé.

As he watched every recording, looked at every image, read every document, he asked himself over and over, _How?_

He remembered the rage, the heartbrokenness, the betrayal he felt when he saw Obi-Wan come down the ramp of her ship. He remembered choking her. He remembered raising his hand and using the Force to curl around her windpipe, because how dare she betray him this way? After every horrible thing he'd done to protect her, how _dare_ she? He remembered how she clutched at her throat, how her eyes were full of tears, how she gasped and begged for him to stop. He remembered how her body went limp and her head snapped against the permacrete when he finally let her go.

He remembered the moment when he reached out and couldn't feel her presence in the Force. Like a flame snuffed out, she was gone. And he knew, _he knew_ that what his master said was true: He'd killed her. Few people could withstand a physical trauma like the one he'd dealt her, let alone someone in the late stages of pregnancy, when the body was already pushed to its limits.

Pregnant.

She'd been pregnant when she died, pregnant when she was buried, and everyone knew it. Force, half the galaxy had seen images of her funeral via the HoloNet! In the months before the Empire clamped down on the flow of information, headlines ran rampant: Former Nubian Queen, Senator Amidala Discovered to be Pregnant; Killed in Tragic Accident.

Apparently, that was only half the truth.

Padmé had a living son to prove it.

Grinding his teeth, Vader opened the files from Polis Massa once again. There were two documents and a stream of holo-footage. The two documents, Vader saw, had been verified and uploaded within moments of each other. One was a medical record and death certificate, falsified to state that Padmé died before she could deliver her child. One was a birth record, detailing the physical condition of a five pound human child. The child's name was not listed, nor were his parents'. The two documents could have been unrelated, except that they weren't.

Vader opened the holo-vid. It was a stream of security footage from Polis Massa. How Thrawn had managed to recover this, Vader couldn't even guess.

There had been one camera facing the landing dock and one inside the medical center, focused on the upper half of the patient bed, the place where Padmé died. The footage was old and degraded, sometimes nothing more than a blur of static. But there were four things Vader saw very clearly.

One: Padmé's ship landed at Polis Massa and when the ramp lowered, Obi-Wan ran out, cradling her limp body in his arms.

Two: Moments after giving birth, Padmé reached out to touch her newborn's forehead, her face twisted in pain. Obi-Wan, carefully holding the baby, bent low so she could reach. The footage cut out before Vader could see whether Padmé had the chance to hold their child.

Three: Padmé died, chest heaving for air and tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she fought for consciousness. The baby, Vader noticed, started squirming and crying in Obi-Wan's arms as soon as his mother breathed her last. She looked exactly the way she had in his nightmares.

Four: Obi-Wan left Polis Massa aboard Padmé's ship and he walked up the ramp slowly, as if he'd aged thirty years, a small bundle held gently in his arms.

Vader turned off the holo projector. He'd seen enough for now.

Damn it _all._

The answers had been with Kenobi the whole time, except—

 _It seems in your anger,_ _ **you**_ _killed her._

Except for that.

He remembered it again. (He wondered if it would be a loop, a living nightmare in his mind forever.)

He remembered again the moment when Anakin Skywalker truly died. It was the moment he'd reached out with the Force and choked Padmé, cutting off her air supply, watching her wither right in front of him. Yet, that hadn't killed her.

 _Stress cardiomyopathy._ That was the official cause of death, just as Thrawn told him. He researched the condition, also known as _broken heart syndrome._ And she _did_ have a broken heart; she told him as much herself. But she also gave birth to a child, someone who needed her and would depend on her. Padmé wouldn't have given up on her son— _their_ son. She wouldn't have just laid down and died, for Force's sake! He saw for himself on the holo-footage from Polis Massa: she struggled and fought for her very last breath.

Something else had been at work that day.

 _Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise? It's a Sith legend._

Vader reopened Padmé's death certificate. He looked at the exact time she'd died. He committed it to memory. Then he opened his own medical records, and searched for the entry from that very same day, scoured the document to find what he was looking for, what he suspected was there.

He compared the time of Padmé's death to the time his surgery had been completed.

 _Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith so powerful, so wise that he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life._

The time stamps were identical to the millisecond.

 _It seems in your anger, you killed her._

 _I—I couldn't have!_

He didn't.

Palpatine lied.

 _Treachery is the way of the Sith_ , a whisper said.

Vader screamed.

* * *

A/N: I hope I didn't let you guys down with this chapter. It's short and not exactly what I wanted, but I think I'll hit my stride with what's coming next. Thanks for your patience.


End file.
